Blazing a Trail to Find My Way Home
by Elfpen
Summary: Margaret Elizabeth Hale is an adventurous soul born into an unadventurous world – Caraway's court of nobles - a world that never truly felt like home. But given the chance of a lifetime, she might just find what she's been looking for in the Ranger Corps.
1. Author's Note

Title: Blazing a Trail to Find My Way Home

Author: Elfpen

Summary: Margaret Elizabeth Hale is a decidedly adventurous soul born into a decidedly unadventurous world – Caraway's court of nobles - a world that never truly felt like home. Given the chance of a lifetime, she might just find what she's been looking for, but first she'll have to blaze her own trail through the controversy and speculation of a skeptical world.

First off, a huge huge huge huge HUGE thank-you to Gun toten Girly, who, in our long conversations together over this idea, gave me the incentive I needed to get in gear and start this story. She's been a big help in developing the character and situation and all the stuff that makes this story. So, hats off to you, Gun toten Girly!

Second: Yes, I know what you're thinking: _"Oh, great. Not another 'girl ranger' fic. Ugh, these things are always SO Mary-Sue…" _

Please give me a chance to explain first:

You see, normally, I'd have to agree with the above statement. But after I heard a rumor (not sure if it's true or not, so don't ask) that John Flanagan may or may not be introducing a female Ranger in upcoming books, it got me thinking: What kind of girl would it take to really make it in the Ranger Corps? What kind of life would she lead? What would her social life look like because of her status as a girl in the Ranger Corps? And so, Margaret (my OC) was born.

Normally, I try to keep my published OCs to a minimum, because I tend to be OC-adverse in my reading, and so I try not to afflict the rest of the fanfiction community with that which I normally dislike. Now, that is not to say I have no OCs – far from it, in fact. I have a small army of them running about in my head, all with their own stories, histories, character and life. However, I do not publish too many of them. So, at first, I was very reluctant to write this story much less publish it, but then Gun toten Girly and I got to talking, and she pretty much gave me the most enthusiastic 'thumbs-up' I could hope for. She helped me immensely to flesh-out Margaret and such (She was a big help in coming up with her name) and I decided that I should give this story a shot.

So, as an experiment to see if it is actually possible within the realms of fanfiction and the English language to write a decent Ranger's Apprentice 'female ranger' story:

Read on.


	2. Prologue

Title: Blazing a Trail to Find My Way Home

Author: Elfpen

Summary: "She never had been like the other girls." Margaret Elizabeth Hale is a decidedly adventurous soul born into a decidedly unadventurous world – Caraway's court of nobles - a world that never truly felt like home. Given the chance of a lifetime, she might just find what she's been looking for, but first she'll have to blaze her own trail through the controversy and speculation of a skeptical world.

* * *

She never had been like the other girls. In fact, it was safe to say that she engaged in just about every non-lady like behavior available to her since the tender age of three and one-half years, when she threw her first mud-pie smacking right into her seven year old brother's face.

Of course, mud-pies turned into mud-wars, which produced ruined dresses and long-winded lectures from her mother. But nothing dissuaded her. After the mud-wars came to an end, the climbing started. And then the eavesdropping, the river-wading, the rough-housing, the tackling, the running, the sneaking, the stalking, and not to mention the knife-throwing. Such behavior left all the local nobility wondering: What went wrong with this child? Was she possessed? Ill-treated? Unsocialized? Uneducated, even? Was she going through a severe bout of rebellion?

Though the fact didn't do anything to deter the castle gossip, the answer to all of these questions was an adamant 'no'. The young Margaret Elizabeth Hale was simply doing what she loved – adventuring, as she called it. Going out, having adventures and playing fun with the other children. But, for however positive her attitude, the adults only saw the negative. Her antics were all so strange, so unusually and completely unbecoming of a young twelve year old girl – much less the young daughter of a respected knight.

Sir Nolan Hale was a noble in the courts of Caraway Castle – a knight of moderate rank and influence, with a sharp eye for detail and deft hand with a sword. He was alert, wise and learned, but with a quiet and laid-back disposition that often took others by surprise. He, for one, did not see too much of a problem with his daughter's antics.

"Let her be herself." He would tell his high-strung, tearful wife. "She'll grow out of it soon, but let her enjoy her childhood now." He knew, after all, that his young daughter would, indeed grow out of it eventually.

Wouldn't she?

He'd told his wife this dozens, if not hundreds of times, but as the years wore on, he began to doubt his own judgment. Twelve turned into thirteen, thirteen into fourteen, and suddenly his little girl was growing into a young woman right before his eyes. But, despite the fact that she was now certainly starting to _look _like a girl, the adventurous spirit stayed, though he was glad to know the days of mud and river water were over. Now it was all sneaking and climbing and having fun with her older brother – all in all driving her poor mother, a stickler for tradition and social norms, completely up the wall. This was not just a childhood fancy, Nolan began to realize, it was her spirit – it was who she was, and who she would stay.

Deep down, he knew that her traditionally un-ladylike disposition would cause her nothing but troubles in life if she wasn't prepared for it, but he would do anything to keep his daughter from harm and the last thing he wanted to see was to watch her spirit crumble. So he did what he could, in his own, quiet manner, to instill her with confidence, love and nurture her spirit. At the same time, however, he schooled her to blend in more readily with society – mostly for the sake of her own poor mother than anything else.

Margaret held a passive attitude toward his lessons at first, but eventually took on a fond kind of acceptance of them, though she knew not when she would use his transferred knowledge. In his own turn, her father would just smile at her. Her future was not clear to him – to anyone, for that matter – but he knew that she would find her way some day.

As it turned out, that way started to come into much clearer focus with the appearance of a letter – a summons for Sir Nolan Hale of Caraway fief, sealed and signed by Duncan, King of Araluen.

* * *

A/N: First proper chapter should be up sometime soon, as soon as Life scoots over a bit and gives me some free time.


	3. Hoping for Adventure

Author's Note: By the way, something that I forgot to mention in the proceeding a/n: This story is in no way, no how, no why, and in no form a self-insertion fic. My OC, Margaret, while she does share certain aspects of her persona with myself (Gun Toten Girly, you'll know what I'm talking about) she is really is very different from me. The 'O' in 'OC' means what it stands for – _Original _Character. Margaret is not me. Believe me, I wouldn't last two seconds doing what she'll be doing in this fic. Anyway. Just wanted to clarify that so no one has to ask me a million times.

Anyway…

Here's the first proper chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Margaret sat by her window, hunched over in a skulking manner as she watched the castle courtyard. Her hand clenched and unclenched around a wad of her skirt angrily. Her glare bored through the glass of the window as she watched the people from her second story room. If looks could kill, Gilan Davidson would be dead ten times over by now.

_I can't believe him, _Margaret thought to herself venomously, _First he gets accepted into battleschool, is at the top of his class, is promised a place at MacNeil's side, and now he's going off to train with a ranger! __**The **__ranger! Halt! _She repressed the urge to scream in frustration. Oblivious to her scrutiny, a slightly nervous but nonetheless happy Gilan said goodbye to his father with a hug, and then mounted the dark battlehorse that he would be riding to Redmont fief. As he rode off beside the Ranger, he towered above the man on the smaller horse. Gilan turned and waved at his father before setting his sights back on the road ahead.

_He is so lucky… Oh, look at him, riding away on his perfect horse, with his perfect sword, going towards his oh so wonderfully perfect life. _She finally gave vent to a frustrated sigh and burst from her seat. Walking over to her bed, she let herself fall face-first into the mattress and made no move to get up. 'Jealous' didn't even begin to cover it. She'd been trying to find some avenue for adventure for years – an 'official' mode of escape from the monotonous, boring, humdrum life of a lady of the court. No, she wasn't quite considered a 'Lady' yet, (especially considering her tomboyish reputation) but it was a life that had stared down at her since birth, and now with only a few years separating her from marrying age, the life she'd dreaded and avoided for fourteen years was suddenly becoming all too real. She wanted to have a good cry about her evident misfortune, but found she couldn't - she was too angry and jealous at the blond-headed wonder that had just waltzed away with everything she'd ever hoped for held so easily in his grasp.

"Margaret Elizabeth Hale! Where have you gotten yourself to?" A shrill voice sounded from across the hall. Margaret winced. She hated her full name, and she hated it even more when it was her mother's voice screeching it in such an annoyed tone. She sighed, just as annoyed as her mother, into her pillows. She would just lie here, and wait for her mother to find her. She would, eventually. In the meantime, however, Margaret wished to enjoy the solitude and silence of her room.

Right on time, Gertrude Hale burst into her daughter's room, swishing with dark, rich fabrics and smelling heavily of perfume. "Margaret! Get up, dear, and – what on earth have you done to your hair? It's all frizzy!"

"Mmmfhmmllphmmfy."

"What was that?"

Margaret lifted her head, "It's always frizzy, mother."

Gertrude scoffed. "Of course it isn't. Now come and make yourself presentable. Your father wishes to see us."

Margaret's brow furrowed. "If it's just father, then why can I not see him as I am?" She looked down at her wrinkled dress.

"Margaret!"

"What? He's my father!"

Gertrude held up her head, with a hurt look in her eye. "Just all the more reason for you make yourself look nicer." She stepped towards her daughter and put a soft hand on her tangled hair. "You are very pretty, Margaret. I don't see why you won't show it." She said with a slightly sad look. She looked her daughter in the eye. "Humor you old mother, please, dear?" She looked almost pleading.

Margaret sighed resignedly and turned. Her mother took a brush from her dresser and ran it down her wavy brown locks. Margaret held still obligingly, but made faces as the bristles tugged on her hair. She really did love her mother deep down, but Gertrude and Margaret couldn't be more of complete opposites. Gertrude wanted nothing more than to have her daughter blossom into a graceful, lady-like, beautiful and no doubt eligible lady of Caraway, and see her married off to a handsome young man of good wealth and means and see her live happily ever after. Margaret, on the other hand, wanted to make her own way in the world – she wanted to get out, see things, go places, have adventures – do something worth doing. She'd tried to tell her mother this on many occasions, but while Gertrude tried to listen, she just couldn't understand or accept her daughter's dreams. They were dreams, after all, and dreams had no place in the real world.

"There." Her mother smiled, setting down the brush. She turned her daughter around by the shoulders and nodded. "You're beautiful. Now come, your father is waiting in his study."

Margaret glanced at the mirror above her dresser. _Beautiful. _Funny, but it looked to her as if her hair was even _more _frizzy that it had already been. She shook her head and followed her mother out the door and down the flight of stairs.

She stepped into the study. Her father was sitting at his desk, and he smiled at her. She immediately felt better. Her father understood her so much better than her mother did, and even his presence seemed to speak to her: _It's okay. _Upon their entering, Nolan rose and kissed his wife on the cheek.

"You both look lovely this evening." He smiled at his wife and daughter. "Now come; sit." He directed them over towards the sitting area by the small fireplace.

Margaret sat down on one of the plush chairs, wondering what her father had called them down into this 'meeting' for. She looked up and her brother smiled at her from across the low coffee table. She smiled back. Dutiful Peyter. Always loyal, always smiling. Just nineteen years old and already making promising progress in battleschool; following in the footsteps of his father. At times, Margaret almost wanted to feel jealous of him, but Peyter was not only her older brother, but he was her closest confidence and despite his four year seniority over her, he never had any qualms about spending time and having fun with his little sister. She could never harbor ill feelings against him.

"I called you all in here after I received a letter this afternoon," Her father's deep voice brought her out of her thoughts, "from Castle Araluen." Margaret heard her mother gasp audibly. Her father continued.

"The battlemasters there have invited me to take up a post there as sword master." He surveyed his family. Gertrude seemed exited but surprised. Peyter sat straight and composed, but was smiling with pride. Margaret had an unreadable expression set on her face. "As you know, this is a great honor. I myself am rather shocked at their decision, but that is beside the point. The fact is that this is a long-standing position, which means that if I accept, we would be living in Castle Araluen for quite a long time." Another gasp from where Gertrude was seated.

If there was more conversation to be heard, Margaret didn't hear it. She was wrapped up in her own thoughts. A long-term post? At Castle Araluen? Just pack up and go? She didn't know what to think. She had never held a conscious love for Caraway or its court, and had always wanted to see her country's capitol, but now that the opportunity had presented itself, she found herself inexplicably grounded to where she was. She'd lived in Caraway all her life. She'd barely ever left – only to go see relatives on holidays and such, but never anything so permanent as this. Margaret was suddenly very unsure of whether or not she liked the idea of moving to Castle Araluen. But then again, there was that exited little leap in her guts that whispered: _Adventure! _She just couldn't help the small smile from showing on her face.

Her mother and brother were rising to leave, she saw, and she rose with them, assuming that they had been dismissed. But as she reached the door, her father called her back.

"Margaret, stay with me a moment?" She looked back, and nodded. Her mother gave the two a long glance, and then turned away and shut the door behind her as she left. Once Gertrude was gone, Nolan rose and approached his daughter.

"Maggie," He said, smiling, and opened his arms. Margaret smiled. Only he called her that – and she liked it that way. She gratefully embraced him, and smiled up at him when he pulled away.

"Now, how do you feel about all this?" He asked, and her smile faded fractionally as she considered the question.

"I… I'm not sure, daddy." She said, holding onto one of his hands affectionately as she spoke. "It's very unexpected… And very sudden… But I can't say that I'm at all opposed to the idea." She had been studying the carpet as she gathered her thoughts, but now she looked back up into his face and smiled. "I think I rather like it, actually."

He chuckled. "I thought you might. A chance to get out and see the world, hmm?" He gave her a knowing wink. "You'll like it there, I know. Perhaps you'll even find yourself a chance for an adventure."

Maggie smiled graciously, but she wasn't sure if she should believe his words or not. Courts rarely gave any opportunity for adventure to a young lady like herself, but her father was so hopeful and encouraging that she found herself inclined to take his every word for truth.

He obviously saw the apprehension written on her face, because he took her by the shoulders and leant his forehead against hers. "It'll be alright, Maggie. You'll find your way." He said philosophically, then added with a lighter tone, "Even if you have to tear down a forest of controversy to do it." Both of them laughed at this, but his expression turned serious once their mirth had died down, and he looked her in the eye. "It _will _be alright, Maggie," He said, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "You _will _find your way. And I'll always be by your side to help you." He smiled at her.

"Promise?" She asked. She'd spoken the word many times to her father as she was growing up, and she knew what the answer would be. He'd never failed her yet.

"Promise." He replied. She smiled and hugged him. The relationship they shared was special, and she hoped and prayed that nothing would ever change that.

After a few moments in each others' arms, father pulled away from daughter.

"Now you must go and start packing your things. We leave next week." He said.

"Daddy, I don't need a week to pack."

"Well… That's true. But your mother will." He looked at her sympathetically, and she smiled. "Just be ready?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good." He smiled at her, and leaned in to kiss her on the forehead. "Now go see if you can't find you brother and the two of you go off somewhere to entertain yourselves for the evening. Your mother will be in hysterics over the transport of her wardrobe, and Lord only knows it won't be very pretty." He sighed. "Of course, someone will have to see to it that she doesn't go _completely _mental, but…" He gave his daughter a long-suffering look. "I was the one who married her. You shouldn't have to deal with it when there's nothing you can do about it. Perhaps you can go see if your friend, young Gilan would teach you some new sword parries?"

Maggie sneered. "Sir David's son? He left this morning. With the ranger, Halt." She looked to one side with a disgusted look. "Lucky little prat." She muttered under her breath. If her father heard the insult, he ignored it. Instead, he looked a bit surprised.

"Really? That was today? I should have liked to have said goodbye to him. He is a good boy." After a thoughtful look, he turned to his daughter and assessed his daughter's curled lip and deadly glare.

"You can't very well hold a grudge against him, Maggie." He addressed her sternly. She looked up at him apologetically.

"I know, daddy, it's just that… Well, why can't that kind of thing ever happen to _me? _Just for once?"

Nolan looked down at his daughter sympathetically. He almost found himself saying _'Because you're a girl',_ but thought better of it. No need reminding her of something she already knew. "I think you know that answer to that, Maggie." He said, and she scowled.

"Oh, yeah. Right. Girls are supposed to be dainty, pure, charitable, and aren't supposed to have any qualms about living the most boring, dull, dreadful existences on the planet." She commented dryly, rolling her eyes for emphasis.

Nolan sighed. "It does seem to be the general conception." He said truthfully. "But that's no reason to give up, Maggie. There's hope yet." He said.

"Is there?" his daughter asked, aggravated. "Well if there is, please point it out, by all means, because mother'll have me married off to some sappy lout before _I'll _have any chance of finding it!"

Nolan shook his head. "Just wait, Maggie. You'll soon find more freedom that you have now. Just hang on. Your time will come." He said cryptically, and kissed her on the brow once more. She drew breath to beg an answer once more, but he was already speaking.

"Now, go find Peyter and the two of you can-"

"_Nolan Hale! Why didn't you warn me before? Oh, this is going to take forever to pack… How will we arrive? What will I wear?" _Maragaret's mother's quick, frantic footsteps echoed from the second story. Nolan looked over at his daughter.

"Well, it's started. Before she finishes her transformation into a screaming banshee, maybe you should make yourself scarce." He looked at her with a small, patient smile. How her father continue to deal with her mother civilly in times like this, Maggie had no idea. But she was glad for it. The long-suffering love of her father for her mother was the glue that kept their family together, at times. She would never completely understand how he loved this screeching woman, but she didn't question it.

"Alright." She sighed. She mustered a smile, and he returned the gesture. As she was at the door, she turned. "And daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He only smiled, and gave her an approving nod.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Margaret ignored the screeched questions of her mother as she headed for the main corridor that lead into the castle yard. She needed to take a walk – some time alone to think to herself. For this purpose, she found herself nearly a kilometer away from the castle, with her favorite oak tree looking down at her in a friendly way. After girding up her skirts, she easily climbed up into a familiar nook and stared out onto the horizon, content for the moment to contemplate what was to come for her in her new life at Castle Araluen.

Little did she know, she was about to walk into a bigger adventure than she had ever bothered to hope for.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get up. I've been having computer problems lately. Anyway… I'm not sure where, but I seem to remember something in the RA books saying that Gilan was originally from Caraway fief. I'm probably wrong, but I'm going to stick him in there anyway.

Hope you enjoyed it! If you did (or even if you didn't) please drop me a review. I'd really, really appreciate it. Thanks!


	4. The Castle and the Ranger

Peyter was hauling the last of the chests containing Margaret's belongings into the bedroom with sweat dripping down his brow.

"You know, I'm really glad you only have three of these things. Just looking at mother's stack of boxes is starting to fracture my back."

Margaret chuckled, and looked sympathetic as she helped her brother lower the box down to the ground. "I'll help, if you like."

"You know father would be furious. They're too heavy for you."

Margaret rolled her eyes. "How would he know? He's never even seen me try!"

"Yes, but I have. You couldn't raise the thing two inches off the ground." Peyter said with a smirk.

Margaret bit her lip. "Well… I could try again!"

Peyter chuckled. "I admire your enthusiastic stubbornness," He laid a brotherly kiss to her temple, "But no. Father and I will take care of the rest. Wish us luck!"

She just shook her head as he left.

After the wooden door swung slowly closed behind him, Margaret turned and surveyed her new room. It was a bit larger than the room she'd occupied in Caraway, and made predominantly of stone, instead of wooden beams and plaster. It would have been a very cold sort of place, but the wooden rafters added a bit of color to the grey walls, and a luscious (if not a bit dusty) red rug covered a great portion of the room, giving a comfortable place to sit by the sizeable fireplace that sat at one wall. A slightly worn chair sat next to it, and close by, there was a sturdy wood bookshelf up against the wall.

When they arrived at Araluen and her father went to receive the deed for the complex of suites that would be their new home, she had been extremely happy to learn that her room had a window looking out onto the courtyard. Now, looking at the actual thing, she was even more ecstatic to see that an ancient oak tree stood right outside her room, its strong branches reaching right up to her second-story window.

Looking at it, she was more that sure that she could climb to it from her window. She smiled dreamily, leaning against the windowsill. Her own personal haven – right next to her room.

"I thought you might like that tree." Her father came up behind her. She turned.

"Daddy, it's perfect! Did you know?"

"Not until yesterday. Peyter was going to have this room, but after we saw the tree, he and I decided that you might like it better."

Margaret looked about, wondering if her brother would materialize conveniently. "I need to hug him."

Nolan laughed at his daughter. "You can, as soon as your mother's wardrobe is moved in completely." He considered this for a moment. "Maybe you should go out and come back later. It's bound to take a while. Or you could unpack your things."

She laughed. "I've had enough packing for a while. I'll go explore." She said excitedly.

Her father smiled. "That's my girl." He said. "Already having adventures. Don't get lost!" He called after her as she left.

"I won't!"

And with that, she was off.

Castle Araluen was, for most, a daunting place. Filled with endless corridors, stairs, hallways, rooms and –according to some – secret passageways, the castle was a gigantic maze of confusion. But for Margaret, it was a challenge, an adventure, and an exploration just waiting for her to act upon it. She couldn't repress the grin from her face as she started out into the long halls.

Even the smallest hallways were infinitely more impressive and beautiful than those of Caraway, and the larger rooms were, in a word, awe-inspiring. The most common substance in the castle was stone, with a good helping of thick wooden beams.

Most of the people she passed in during her trek were castle locals, she could see, as most of them seemed to know exactly where they were going and what they were doing. A few ladies smiled at her politely as she passed, and several young battleschool apprentices gave chivalrous salutes. Margaret found herself blushing at this – back in Caraway, none of the young men had acted such towards her. They'd known her, after all, and didn't exactly view a rebellious tomboy as a subject to be shown chivalry. Now, experiencing for the first time the nature of being treated 'like a lady', she found that she wasn't completely opposed to it – it was very polite of them.

But these thoughts on the manners of young Araluens ended as she entered the foyer of the second floor. She suddenly found herself walking more slowly, and had to snap her mouth shut after finding it dangling to the floor. The foryer spanned upwards a good four floors from where she stood, and another one downward. It was, in a word, immense. Granite staircases ran in great, wide spirals from the top down, ending in graceful, majestic sweeps on the marble floors of the grand hall of the bottom floor.

For all the foyer's grandiose nature, from the red and black veined marble of the ground floor, to the polished granite and carved handrails of the stairs, Margaret recalled her father's strategy lessons and noted with interest the fact that all doors leading off from the main staircase were thick, armored, and reinforced – and none of them particularly large. This, she knew, would build a layer of defense in the state of a siege, and was a very serious and practical touch added to an overall artful and open courtyard. Though, she thought with a small smirk, how anyone would go about besieging the impregnable fortress of castle Araluen was beyond her.

She decided that she would hike to the top of the staircase, and after many long minutes and a great deal of huffing and puffing, she was looking down the small ant-sized guards standing post by the main door. She made an odd note that there wasn't too much traffic up on the top levels of the castle. There were too hallways leading off to the left and right wings of the top floor, and on a whim, Margaret chose the doorway to the left – the one closer to where she stood. After peeking inside to make sure she was not trespassing, she entered into a small, quiet hallway. In fact, it was almost abnormally quiet. There were a few paintings and tapestries hanging on the walls. There were a few anterooms and sitting areas that she walked through as she roamed around the pathways. One particular painting in such a room caught her eye.

It was an old painting, the oil in the pigments cracked and worn. The edges were beginning to show signs of fading, but the colors still shone with life. The picture itself depicted an extravagantly dressed man – the king, presumably – standing before a kneeling man with a ceremonial sword resting on the man's shoulder. There were about a dozen standing men behind the one kneeling, and they were all wearing the same thing. It wasn't a uniform, per se, but they looked just alike. Greens, browns, and a very strange cape. She looked down to the brass plate attached to the bottom of the frame.

_Circa. 496 Common Era_

_King Herbert formally appoints Richard Harper as the first Ranger Corps. Commandant._

Margaret looked back at the painting. She could see now that the strange capes that the kneeling man – Richard Harper – and the men standing behind them were not really capes, but cloaks. Familiar, mottled, green-grey cloaks, pushed back from the shoulders with the hood tossed back. They were rangers.

"It's a favorite painting of mine, that."

Margaret nearly jumped clear out of her skin at the sound. She couldn't help but yelp in surprise as she whipped around and immediately bent into a sloppy defensive hand-to-hand position.

The man who had spoken looked back at her with a slightly surprised look – more at her awkward choice of position than anything else. "I am sorry," His cool blue eyes were genuine. "I didn't mean to startle you. Martin is telling me that I do that too much…" He looked away for a moment, then back at her. "I merely wanted to ask you what you're doing here in the Ranger's wing, Miss." He finished.

Margaret blanched. "R-ranger's wing? I… I-I um…"

He cocked a suspecting eyebrow at her, waiting to hear her explanation.

"I am so, so sorry, sir…" She noted the cloak he was wearing with compounding panic, "Mister Ranger, sir… I… I didn't know… Ranger's wing…." She cast about to look at anything but him. "New… Castle Araluen…"

He held out a hand to stall her nervous mumbles. "What is your name, Miss?"

"Margaret." She squeaked out.

"Your full name, Miss Margaret." He said patiently.

She gulped hard. Only one day at Castle Araluen and she was already disgracing her father's good name. She could only pretend that she wasn't ashamed. _Well done, idiot. _She told herself. She looked down. "Hale, sir. Margaret Hale." She glanced up at him for a flicker of a second. "Sir." She stuck on awkwardly. She didn't see the light smile on his lips.

"Hale? Sir Nolan Hale?" He asked.

_Oh, botheration._

Gulp. "Yes, sir."

"Really? Yes… Yes, I suppose I can see it, now. I wasn't aware he had a daughter. A good man, your father."

She wasn't sure what to do. "Um, yes sir."

"Does he know you're here?"

"Well…" She started. She looked up at saw that he was waiting expectantly for her to finish.

"Umm… Not exactly. We just got here, you see, and, and… Well, I went to… go… exploring…" She gestured with a blush, "And I ... I ended up…" She looked around. " Here. I'm very sorry, sir – I didn't know."

The ranger nodded. "I see." He regarded her carefully. "You're new to castle Araluen, then?"

She nodded without looking up.

"Well then," He said, and she was sure he was about to cast some sort of punishment, "Since you are new to the Castle, I suppose your ignorance of the interior layout can be overlooked."

And to her utter surprise, when she looked up, he was smiling widely at her. He looked like a particularly cheerful fellow, now, and Margaret noted that despite the fact that he couldn't have been a day over thirty five years of age, there were already wide wrinkles framing the man's mouth and slight creases at his eyes – obviously, he smiled quite a lot.

"R-really? Oh, thank you, sir!" She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Just don't let it happen in the future, Miss Hale." He told her.

"Of course not, Sir."

"Come. I'll show you the way out so you don't get lost. It's quite a maze in here."

Once they were back out to the top of the grand staircase, he tipped his head and she curtsied out of gratitude. "I'm very sorry, again." She said. Of all people, she'd never want to offend a ranger.

"It's quite alright, Miss Hale. Just realize that this wing is off-limits, unless you have specific permission."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." She turned to leave. He didn't move. As her hand touched the handrail to return downstairs, she stopped, and slowly turned back to the ranger.

"Um… Sir?" She asked tentatively.

"Yes, Miss Hale?" He was polite.

"Is… Is there anywhere else I shouldn't be going?" She asked cautiously.

He grinned slightly at her. _She's a curious one, _he thought, _but at least she learns her limits. _"A few, yes. To make things a little easier, why don't I just tell you the basic castle layout, hmm?" He walked to where she was standing by the rail.

She smiled. "That would be very helpful, sir."

He nodded. "Right, then. The first floor," He motioned to the distant foyer floor over the railing, "Is what you might call the 'official' floor. King Duncan's audience hall, the Ballroom, the Grand Dining Room, and most of the formal offices are down there. The second, third, and fourth floors are all residence halls where the court nobles reside." He nodded to her, "As you probably already know. Those floors also have dining and entertaining halls. The fifth floor is reserved for higher-ranking knights, officials, and any visiting dignitaries. The top floor – this floor – is split in to two sections – the Ranger's Wing and the Royal Suites. The Ranger's Wing is series of residence suites for retired rangers and such." He said vaguely. "And the Royal suites, as you might have guessed, are the private residence quarters of the King and his family."

Margaret paled at the prospect. To think, she'd picked the hallway to the Ranger's Wing by chance.

He seemed to read her mind. "Don't worry. The guards would have stopped you before you could embarrass yourself too much." His eyes twinkled with merriment, not a speck of mockery in them. She couldn't help but smile back a bit.

"Thank you for your help, sir. I promise it won't happen again."

"A good day, Miss Hale." He nodded politely to her as she started down the stairs.

"You as well, Sir."

It was only after she'd reached the second floor that she realized that she hadn't even caught his name.

* * *

Crowley watched her leave with a curious smile on his face. An intriguing young girl – he'd have to keep his eye on her in the future.


	5. Of Acorns and Acceptance

**A/N:** Well, I was actually going to update _Running for My Life _before I worked on this fic again, but **Lady Maeror **insisted that if I was going to de-hypocritize myself, I'd have to update this fic first. So I am. :P I'm glad that I did, actually, as I hadn't previously known what I was going to do at this point in the story, but after thinking about it for a while, I think I've got a pretty good idea of what the plot will be for a while here. ;)

Enjoy!

* * *

After her chance meeting with the ranger, (she still didn't know his name) Margaret had taken up a curious interest in the Rangers. Sure, she had seen Caraway's ranger, Cameron, on several occasions before, but it was different here at Castle Araluen. This was their 'headquaters', so to speak. There was infinitely more activity about the rangers here than in Caraway. For that matter, there was infinitely more activity in Castle Araluen in just about every way, not just in the Ranger Corps. The business, the buzz, the activity of the castle was incredibly intriguing to Margaret. She had a personal mission to set forth and understand the workings of the castle, inside and out. For this purpose, she had started visiting the court archives regularly.

It was a vast library, with tall oak shelves and expansive rooms of books and records. The entire archive wing smelt of rich oak and mesquite wood, paper, aged ink, and a touch of dust. It was only semi crowded on a busy day, but always quiet, out of common courtesy for others. There were history books, reference books, books full of poems and epics and great tales of adventure. There were books written in Gallican, Espanard, Tuetlandtian, and even a few in Old Hibernian. Of course, the vast majority were written in Araluan, and so Margaret bypassed the foreign texts for her native tongue.

Presently, she pulled a thin volume off a shelf and verified the front cover with the title she'd spied on the back.

_A Brief History of the Araluen Ranger Corps._

_compiled by_

_Bernard Thatius_

Margaret let out a small giggle at the author's funny-sounding name, but quieted meekly after an elderly man standing nearby sent her a withering glare. Still smirking, she opened the simple clothboard cover to the title page. The same information found on the cover was provided again, except this time, Margaret saw, there was a sizable crest printed beneath it, a stylized oakleaf. She took note of this and closed the book again, stashing it in the messenger-style satchel she'd taken with her.

After a few minutes of searching, she came across another volume that she'd been looking for.

_Fifty Fiefs, Fifty Cultrures - An Outline of Araluen Provinces_

_by_

_Lord Gander Fitzhugh_

This one was a thick book, with a daunting number of pages and an ornate polished-leather cover. She curled her lip and regarded it doubtfully. She didn't think she really needed all of that information for what she was after. She replaced it back on the shelf and looked at the books surrounding it. After pulling out and replacing several equally as daunting and dull-looking books, including Haraff Tannigan's eleven-volume commentary on Araluen politics of the third and forth centuries, she came across a book that looked a little more promising.

_A Capitol of Culture_

_An Overview of Castle Araluen and its Surrounding Fiefdom_

_by_

_Sir Jason Greymont_

This particular book was about half the size of its surrounding neighbors, and while ornately decorated as the others, looked less intimidating for the fact. The once-polished cover was worn slightly, and Margaret got the feeling that it was read more often than the others. _I can see why, _she thought, tossing a grimace at all the monstrous, dust-covered volumes on the shelf before her. She glanced through the pages briefly, and seeing that the text was readable, not overly embellished and to the point, she decided that this was the book for her. She snapped it shut and put it in the bag with her other book, before striding up to the archive manager's desk with a triumphant grin on her face.

The manger himself wasn't there, but his spectacled apprentice was, and Margaret garnered a strange look from him as he wrote down which books she was taking with her. He straightened his vest and tipped his head to her as she left, as any gentleman would, but Margaret could tell that he thought her strange. She shrugged it off and went on her way, resisting the urge to skip along the pathways of the outer castle as she returned to her home.

"Someone's in a good mood today." Her father commented as she walked in. He was getting ready to leave, she could tell, but she nodded at him anyway.

"It's a good day!" She said, rising on her tiptoes to kiss her father on the cheek. "Why shouldn't I be?"

He laughed at her. "I wish your brother would act that way. He didn't get much sleep last night, I gather. He's been a quite a grump all day."

"Hmm. I suppose it's the new bed and house and all – I'm surprised I've gotten as much sleep as I have!" Margaret said.

Nolan nodded. "I suppose that might be it. Well, I'm to meet with a few of the other swordmasters today to get acquainted with the apprentices. I'll see you later, Maggie." Nolan said as he strapped on his sword belt. "Don't burn the house down." He added passively.

Margaret rolled her eyes. "Of course not, father. Good luck with the new recruits!" She winked at him, and he smiled back briefly before shutting the door behind him. After he left, Margaret went to her room and took out her newly acquired books.

With an ease that testified to the fact that she'd nearly perfected the act since she'd arrived at Castle Araluen, Margaret opened her window shutters, girded her skits and swung over to the massive oak tree outside her window. No one outside seemed to notice, though she saw a passing greyhound's ears perk up a bit at the rustle.

After finding a suitable crook at the base of a thick branch, Margaret brushed off a seat, got comfortable, cracked open _A Brief History of the Araluen Ranger Corps., _and read.

Hours later, she'd gobbled up all but a few pages her book and still had her nose glued to the last few pages. However, the action wasn't taken out of anticipation. Rather, the quickly failing sunlight around her required her to press her eyes ever closer to the page. Eventually, she gave up the effort with a huff, annoyed that she hadn't been able to finish her book, and put it back in her bag.

She'd learned more about the Ranger Corps. then she'd previously known, but she was still left with a great deal of questions. Then again, she supposed it couldn't be helped. She was smart enough to know that rangers enjoyed secrecy. Still, she thought, it was so irksome that they were wrapped in such mystery. There was nothing more irritating for the curious soul, she was convinced, than to have a curiosity stifled by exclusive clubs full of weapon-wielding men who (she recalled the ranger she'd met the other day) smiled to widely and were altogether too nice for their own good. _If you're going to be so darned secretive,_ she thought to herself, _then you might as well be suitably grumpy about others poking their noses into your business. At least then, I'd feel as though I was actually going up against someone with a challenge worth going up against in the first place. _She folded up her knees and hugged them moodily, content to sulk over annoyingly cheery rangers and the useless amount of light still left in the sky.

Suddenly, a voice broke through her pity-party, and she lifted her head in interest to peer down at the figures below. At first, Margaret couldn't make out what they were saying. A man with dark, unkempt hair came up behind a woman whose face Margaret couldn't see. He called to her, and she turned with a start. They spoke with each other in quick tones. Margaret got the feeling that they knew each other, but somehow, the woman didn't look to happy to see the dark-haired man. The man took a step forward, and the lady took one wary stride backwards. Margaret frowned. She wasn't sure that this was going to end well.

"What do you want?" She could hear the girl ask. The man replied, but Margaret couldn't understand him. Then, in a quick turn of events, the man advanced further on the girl and she shrieked, a bit sternly, "Get away from me!" She swatted at him, but he caught her hand and held it. It turned into a struggle, with the man growing increasingly angry and the woman increasingly scared. This, Margaret knew, would definitely _not _end well.

Glancing around, Margaret picked off a cluster of acorns from a nearby branch. They weren't very large, but the tips were painfully sharp. At high speeds, they could cause rather painful injuries. Stepping easily across the tree, she plucked an acorn from the cluster and threw it with vicious speed to land squarely on the man's temple. He let out a loud yelp, and she took his momentary distraction to her advantage.

"Get away from her, you git!" She found herself yelling at him as she landed another shot at his shoulder. He cringed and held his arm, looking up as she let herself down from the tree before tossing another acorn at his chest. "The lady said to leave – now go!" She tossed acorn after acorn at his person, and after the smallest amount of resistance, he turned and fled. She tossed what remained of the bunch angrily after him, shaking her head in disgust. "Nasty pervert." She murmured, before turning around to the woman, who was rubbing her wrists where the man had grabbed her.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

The woman nodded after a moment's hesitation. "Yes… I suppose… Were you in that tree this whole time?" She looked vaguely distracted by Margaret's sudden appearance.

Suddenly self-conscious, Margaret blushed and realized how ridiculous she must look with her hair mused and filled with twigs and her skirts girded up as they were. She looked to the side, wishing she could disappear. "Oh, um… Yeah. I've been there for a while," She managed.

The woman merely nodded in a befuddled kind of way, and Margaret was suddenly intimidated by her appearance – elegant, beautiful and well-dressed; every bit a lady of the court. Whereas Margaret had a short, strong figure, this woman was tall, lithe, and pale skinned against Margaret's freckle-dusted complexion. Her honey-colored hair was pulled neatly back to frame a delicate face and lovely hazel eyes. Beautiful. Delicate. A Lady – all the things that Margaret would never be. Margaret could almost feel the other girl's courtly presence overshadowing her dirt-smeared, bark-scraped self, and she sidestepped to head away from the woman.

"Uhm, I'll eh… I'll be going, then." She said in a small voice, looking at the ground as she started back towards her tree, cheeks burning.

"Wait, don't go – I didn't get to thank you." The lady called out behind her. She came up behind Margaret and touched her shoulder. Margaret turned at looked up at the other girl, who was a few inches taller than herself, and forced a composed expression. "I thought I'd have to fight him," The woman explained, "and well, that wouldn't have - Well. You know." She shook herself. "You came in just in time. It was very… Well, that was something, that's for sure." She smiled at Margaret.

Margaret felt like melting into the ground. Yeah, that was her: 'Something'. Whatever that meant.

Then, the lady surprised her by fixing her with an genuinely inquisitive look and a small smirk. "But I have to ask… Where on earth did you learn how to wield an acorn as a weapon?"

At the friendly, sincere tone, Margaret looked up, and the other girl was smiling.

"Ah, well…" Margaret started uneasily, "Bad childhood habit, I suppose. Nosey brothers and annoying playmates… Sometimes one needs to fend them off. Acorns are a handy solution." She said.

There was a small pause, before,

"…Do you think you could teach me how to throw like that?"

The inquiry surprised her, and when Margaret looked up, the other girl was smiling widely. Soon, both girls were laughing with each other. Eventually, they calmed down, and the elegant girl smiled.

"You do have my thanks. But, I don't know your name. I'm Isabelle." She extended a thin hand.

"I'm Margaret." Margaret extended her more calloused, tanned hand, and Isabelle shook it gladly.

"Lovely to meet you – it's nice to meet a young lady with enough guts to fend off a beast like Roland." She rolled her eyes at the thought of the offending man.

Margaret tilted her head. "You… You don't think that it's odd, the tree, the acorns – not to mention all of this?" She motioned to her dirty face and clothes.

Isabelle shrugged. "Odd? Maybe. Most definitely, if you're part of the court. But not in any bad way."

"Oh… Well, I _am _part of the court." Margaret confessed.

"Well then, you're all the more braver for the fact." She smiled at Margaret, and Margaret smiled back, a bit surprised. Seemingly coming to a decision, Isabelle nodded her elegant head in a positive gesture. "I've decided I like you, Miss Margaret. In fact, why don't you come along with me for dinner in the dining hall? I'll be happy to learn how to toss acorns with such ferocity." She winked.

"Really?" Margaret had never been invited by her peers to join them at dinner.

"Of course! Well, you might want to go clean up a bit first – I hear the kitchen master is persnickety with the hall's cleanliness."

Margaret let out an unladylike snort, but Isabelle didn't seem to notice. "Clean up indeed," Margaret said, "I don't want to know how long it's going to take to brush all this out." She picked at an oakleaf that had lodged itself in her hair.

Isabelle let out a laugh. "Well in that case, I'll help you, if you like. You saved me from a drunken thug - I'll help you navigate the warzone of hairdressing. It's the least I can do."

Margaret smiled. "Would you? Thank you! We'll go back to my home – my family will be happy to meet you, I'm sure." Margaret said.

"Oh, what family do you have?" Isabelle asked, remembering that she didn't catch Margaret's last name.

"My parents and my brother. My surname is Hale, by the way."

"Hale? You mean the new swordsmaster 'Hale'?" Isabelle asked as they began to walk.

"Yes… How did you know?"

"Oh, the court gossips up a storm whenever a new family comes to Araluen. As exciting as castle life is, there is gossip about anything and everything around here." She winked. "We've known about Sir Nolan Hale for a while now – but I wasn't aware he had a daughter." She laced an arm through Margaret's in a friendly gesture. "But I like him all the more for it. Now come, we'll get you cleaned up, and see what the kitchen staff has roused up for the evening meal."

They spoke in friendly tones as they walked to the Hale residence, and just as Margaret was about to let herself in, Isabelle laughed at a comment that Margaret had made, and smiled at her.

"You know, Margaret, I have a feeling that you and I are going to be good friends." She said, and turned to enter the Hale's home. Margaret stayed behind a bit, reflecting on a strange notion that was bubbling up inside her. For the first time she could remember, outside of her own family, she was feeling something that she thought she'd never feel from anyone but her father and brother.

Acceptance.

* * *

Yay! Alright, so this was pretty much a filler chapter. I'm not entirely fond of it, but I can't seem to write it exactly the way I want. At any rate, I promise you that Isabelle will be sticking around for quite some time, so it was important to introduce her, at least.

Read and review, please!


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